


Knowing the Raven

by Lyssandra_Med



Series: One-Shot [36]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Emotional Hurt, F/F, Short One Shot, fading relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:40:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21805342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyssandra_Med/pseuds/Lyssandra_Med
Summary: It was theirs.Until it wasn't.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Bellatrix Black Lestrange
Series: One-Shot [36]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1429282
Comments: 2
Kudos: 30





	Knowing the Raven

“I didn’t hate you.”

And yet she did. Deep, and swirling like an ink upon her soul. 

“I loved you.”

And she had, with every fibre of her being, every cell in her body devoted towards uplifting the woman standing before her.

“I still do.”

It was the truth, plain and simple.

_ “But now it’s both?” _

The question, quiet upon her lips, yet echoing against her ears.

It was always both.

\---

It was the way she slept, quiet and unmoving. Peaceful, content, all the hallmarks of rest. It was the way she curled around her instinctively, one leg hitched up atop her thigh, and her arm thrown out across her waist. It was her nose buried deep into the crook of her neck.

It was the pain of failure, waking up to nightmares given form. Anger, harsh words, excuse after excuse for her behaviour. 

It was the moment afterwards, forgiveness passing over. It was the silence of reconciliation.

Again.

And again.

\---

It was quiet moments on their couch, nothing to be spoken between them, soft touches exchanged as she massaged weary shoulders. It was a kiss planted among thick hair, the scent of her wash still lingering against her nose. It was the happiness that came from contact, light or heavy. It was the happiness of their loneliness, alleviated between them.

It was the separation, the moments where the other’s presence was too much, too strong. It wasn’t loud voices or arguments, it was the lack of such things. It was silence. A heavy block between the two of them.

It was days when it seemed they never spoke, from sunup to sundown.

It was waiting to feel the press of a body between the sheets, hours left alone and wanting.

\---

It was time spent working, both together at the least, soft moments of respite from what would have otherwise been insurmountable pressure. It was wandering to her workspace, a warm hug from behind. It was the softly whispered,  _ ‘I love you.’ _

And it was the lack of a reply.

\---

One year passed to two, two on into seven.

One by one, stacking up and with it memories of moments where the world had seemed so small. There was no one-

_ All of them gone, all of them left, greener pastures and futures bright. _

_ Her alone, her broken, her curled in tight around the only thing that mattered. _

Unhealthy.

The wrong sort of coping.

Twisted and warped until there was only  _ them, _ and no others.

_ Dependance. _

A sword with no handle. Her only protection, the cause of all her pain.

They warned her-

_ ‘It’s not normal, it’s not  _ **_natural,_ ** _ not after all the things  _ **_she_ ** _ did.’ _

She didn’t listen.

How could she? How could she look them in the eye and take all their harsh advice when she finally had everything she loved. All of it, condensed down into one point, one bright light amid her darkness.

It was wrong. Or, maybe selfish. Maybe she had been too preoccupied with herself to understand what she was doing.

It was telling her that she wasn’t like  **_that,_ ** anymore. That she needn’t be  **_that,_ ** so long as they were together.

It was the angered reply. It was the rebuke. 

It was the pain that settled not because she  _ was _ like that, it was the pain that brewed because  _ she _ was enforcing it.

Control, even from a place of love and commitment.

Reins lashed about her heart.

\---

It was holding her hand as she shivered and bounced her leg. It was warm caresses when the white walls of the hospital closed in on them. It was tender moments where she threw all of herself into being  _ there, _ into being  **_present._ **

She was a buoy in turbulent waters, hoping only to keep her capsized lover afloat.

It was the realization, the epiphany, that even with all her heart, it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. 

But still, she tried.

She fought and kicked, and screamed until she could batter down the heavy gates that walled off her lover’s heart.

And still, it wasn’t enough.

It was waking early, far earlier than necessary, and sitting in the room outside. It was sipping coffee, or tea, and listening to the sound of her sleeping. It was wondering if the silence would hurt.

It was sleeping far earlier than necessary, passing beneath covers and huddling all alone. It was a conversation through the Floo, the Muggle telephone. It was the door to  _ their _ bedroom pulled shut, to hide the voices she knew were there. 

It was  _ ‘This is yours, and this is mine,’ _ with no reason as to  _ why _ the segregation mattered now.

It was the chasm of her heart, bubbling with pitch and flame.

It was hearing,  _ ‘We’ll go… I’ll go…. She’ll go…’ _

It was hearing,  _ ‘I love you,’ _ when it had been missing all the hours before.

It was their agreement, falling through.

It was their promise, tarnished and broken.

It was their life-

Until it wasn’t.

\---

For all their faults, broken and mirrored histories, and cherished similarities-

For all their words, soft secrets whispered beneath pale moonlight-

For all their mirrored claims of sorrow, apologies said with tears-

It wasn’t enough.

And it never would be.

\---

She left, one morning.

Packed up her life into a bag no larger than her purse.

What was hers, was gone.

What was  _ hers, _ was left.

It was amicable. There was no screaming, no shouting or threats of violence. The emptiness could have been ragged and raw, leaving her bleeding with no way to staunch the flow.

But it wasn’t, and for that at least she was grateful.

If she had been told the outcome years before, she would have laughed. Would have spit in the face of anyone who even dared suggest it. Their romance had been complete, if fraught with worry, and built upon the strangest of attractions.

A house of cards, two Queens at the top, folded over and falling when the weight became too much.

The blessing was having witnessed the house of cards at all. The blessing was in having had the chance, no matter that in the end, it felt squandered. The blessing was in having known peace, however short it may have ultimately been.

The blessing was a black feather, laying upon the floor.

The blessing was in having known the Raven.

No matter how far She flew.


End file.
